Paisley beams. "Dom told Klein you're not getting an annulment."
"That's correct." I want to stand on the roof and shout it through a megaphone. I want to wear a stupid hat that saysMrs. I want to do all the things I always thought were ridiculous, but I simply don't know how to hold space for all of that effervescent happiness and my grief at the same time.
Paisley grabs my hand. "When you're ready, we can't wait to celebrate you. I'm thinking a night on the town. We'll dance until we're sweaty."
I raise my eyebrows at her. "You do realize that's how I ended up married?"
She laughs. "Good point."
For the next few hours, I immerse myself in catching up. It isn't until Paisley sticks her head in my office that I realize it's well past lunchtime.
"I'm starving," she says, rubbing her stomach.
Being late for lunch has its perks. The restaurant that is usually packed midday is only half full. We snag a seat on the covered patio. Water flows through the canal between us and the buildings we've just walked from. The sunshine is warm, but not yet hot.
Pressing my toes into a pocket of sunlight beside our table, I say, "It's hard to believe I was stuck in a snowstorm less than a week ago."
Paisley and Paloma stare at me. "What?"
"The RV we rode around in got stuck on the side of the road. It was crazy. This cowboy showed up to help pull us out." I'll have to ask Kerrigan if she's heard from him.
Paloma throws up her hands. "Why is it never me who gets rescued by a cowboy? It's always someone else."
Paisley side-eyes her. "How many other people do you know who have been rescued by cowboys?"
Paloma pointedly ignores her. "Tell us more stories, Cecily."
Paisley and I share a silent laugh before I launch into everything I remember about the trip.
We're dunking focaccia in pesto when my dad calls. Startled by the name flashing on the screen, I stare at it for a full three seconds before saying, "I should answer this."
"Dad, hi." I get up from the table, walking around the corner of the patio until I'm on the sidewalk. I don't need privacy for the conversation, but I have the urge to pace.
"Cecily. How are you?"
Why does he sound that way? Softer. Like he cares.
"Unbelievably sad," I answer honestly. "How about you?"
"Like I can't see or talk to the person I used to be able to see or talk to anytime of day."
The answer is so honest, so raw, and it takes me aback. Have I ever heard my dad talk like this? No.
"I was wondering if you would like to help me plan Grandma's memorial? Kerrigan and Duke were close to her, but you and Grandma had a unique relationship." He falters. "She was there for you when your mother and I were..."
My breath hangs in my throat as I wait for him to finish his sentence. I can't imagine how he's going to end it.
He sighs, then finally says, "When we were assholes."
That one word does not capture the depth and breadth of what it felt like to grow up in his household, but it's a start. A small turn on the pressure valve.
We have a lot to work through, and who knows how long it will take, but it all starts with a single step.The ball is in your court, I hear my grandma say.
I tell my dad I will help him, and we make plans to meet at my grandma's house tomorrow when I'm done with work. I hang up and return to the table. Our lunches have arrived, along with three flutes of champagne.
"What's with the bubbly?" I ask, taking my seat.
"No particular reason," Paisley answers. "Just wanted to celebrate the fact that you exist. I missed you."
